A Thief's Touch
by VariedInterests
Summary: A thief depends on their hands - to feel the shadows and take what others don't need. Without them, a thief is nothing. ( F!Reader x Brynjolf Romance)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Oh, goodness. I haven't submitted something on here in a VERY long time, so forgive me if it's not great. I did try, but I will be more than happy to accept CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

A Thief's Touch is a romance fiction between a f!reader and Brynjolf. It's going to be more than one chapter, and there is a chance there will be smut. I will label the chapter with smut with it's chapter title and an (M), so you have been warned.

Enjoy!

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Few things annoyed you quite like lock-picking. More than one of your assigned heists would have gone without a hitch if they didn't require picking a few locks, but everyone was paranoid these days thanks to the Thieves Guild regaining its luck. What the new leader saw you, no one knew. Your hands always shook, you were hesitant, and a deaf mouse could hear you sneaking from smiles away. The thing that always got you – the thing that the guild leader always told you to practice – was your lock-picking.

You often took to the training room, where an entire corner was taken up by various chests that were waiting to be unlocked. After dinner you scraped your plate, nodded a thanks towards Vekel, then took to the cistern where the training room awaited. And, while you enjoyed the company of the other thieves, you liked to spend your time alone. It put you at ease knowing the others weren't peeking over your shoulder and laughing.

You were about to pass the arch and into the room, when you noticed a familiar head of white hair. Vex crossed her arms and put her weight into one leg, giving you a cocky smirk. You usually came in with a chipper mood and plenty of determination, but both evaporated as soon as you laid eyes on her. Sure, Vex was nice when she wanted to be, but lock-picking was her specialty.

"**Come to get some more practice in?**" She asked. You lowered your head and shrugged, seating yourself in the middle of the chests. It had taken some time, but you had worked your way through the first two chests. With your stash of picks in your lap, you let your hand wander along the edge of your current challenge. Your fingers bumped along the cold metal surface, nails teasing at the flakes of rust along the locks opening.

You lifted a pick and slipped it into the lock, your tongue peeking out from between your lips. Vex stood behind you, her eyebrows rising high on her forehead. She knew that lock-picking wasn't your strongest skill, but she had to admire your concentration. Even when your picks snapped, you didn't give up. You had been accepted into the guild for a reason, and you didn't want to let everyone down because you hadn't tried hard enough.

_Snap_! Another pick broke.

_Snap! Snap! Snap!_ You lost a few more.

"**You're not feeling the lock.**" She said.

"**Shush!**" You didn't mean to snap, but you could have sworn that you almost had the darn thing unlocked. You edged the pick along, whispering to it softly. You urged it, encouraged it, told it that unlocking the chest was simple enough.

"**Vex! I need a word with ya, lass.**" Came a sudden, booming voice. You gasped and felt your entire body flinch, the pick snapping in two. You groaned loudly and stood to stamp your feet out of frustration, until you realized that Brynjolf was the one who had spoken. He strode into the room, barrel-chested and proud. He made to address Vex again, but his head turned in your direction.

"**Ah, there you are. I was going to ask Vex if she had seen you.**" He gave a kind enough smile, but your cheeks were flushed with aggravation. Brynjolf's brows came together. "**Something wrong**?"

"**Failed again.**" Vex answered for you, your eyes narrowing. She wasn't wrong, and so you weren't angry at her for pointing out your obvious flaw.

"**Come now, Vex, no need to taunt her. She just needs a little training.**" The burly man said in your defense. The slightest smile touched your lips, but you pushed it back.

"**I've tried. She's hopeless. Honestly, I don't know why she's here.**" Vex muttered.

"**Some come to us with trained hands, and others need to learn to use their hands. We are all thieves, Vex.**" Brynjolf said. The white-haired woman scoffed, then made for the center of the cistern. She said something along the way, but you paid no attention to her. There was no point in picking a fight with someone that could easily place a blade between your ribs.

"**She's right...**" You said once she was out of ear-shot.

"**Do you really believe that?**" Brynjolf asked, his fists resting on his hips. You rubbed at the side of your neck and opened your mouth, but he stopped you with a wave of his hand. "**Don't answer that, lass. I know what you're going to say.**"

"**Brynjolf, you've seen me fail. Sure, I can pick a pocket no problem, but I'm never going to pull a big enough heist and bring in as much gold as I want. I don't understand why the guild leader brought me in.**"

"**Do you want to know why?**" The man asked.

"**You've already told me...**" You groaned, but Brynjolf had already started telling his favorite story.

"**Because you are a lot like them. I found them wandering Riften with an empty pocket, so I offered them a petty job – steal a ring and put it into someone's pocket without being caught. They failed, of course. I expected too much out of a novice, but that didn't mean they couldn't grow and learn. Look at them now. They're the leader of an entire guild.**" He took a finger and touched it to the bottom of your chin, lifting it.

"**I'll never make it that far.**" You said, turning your head away from his hand.

"**Practice, lass. That's all I'm asking. You'll surprise the others and yourself, I know it.**" He said softly. Your face heated up again at the sound of his sweet words and the feel of his hand on your shoulder.

"**I do practice, but I can't seem to get those blasted locks open!**" You scoffed.

"**Would you like some help?**" He asked.

"**I suppose, but I'm hopeless.**" You said. Brynjolf chuckled and rubbed at the stubble along his chin thoughtfully.

"**All it takes is a light touch. Come, sit.**" He sat in front of chest where your unused lock-picks lay. He picked them up and motioned for you to join him, but you felt hesitant. The amount of attention he was giving you seemed strange, and the way he smiled made you shiver. And, with the torch-light flicking the way it did, you began to notice how handsome and sharp his features were.

"**Oh! Right.**" You coughed and sat on your knees beside him, "**I only ask that you be patient with me, Master Brynjolf.**"

"**Master Brynjolf... I like the sound of that.**" He laughed, and you giggle in return. Few people in the guild shared the same sense of humor or desire to laugh. "**First, give me your hands.**"

"**I'm sorry?**"

"**Your hands, lass. Give them to me.**" He turned to face you, his large hands facing with their palms towards the ceiling. You lifted your own, your slender fingers running parallel with his thicker ones. It didn't surprise you that his skin was rough and calloused like the rest of him.

"**What are you doing?**" You asked, his eyes focusing along your knuckles and clean nails.

"**Feeling. Ah, I can feel your heart beating through them. Nervous, are we?**" He passed you another wink, and it only caused your heart to beat faster.

"**How...?**"

"**A thief is nothing without their sense of touch. When picking a lock, you have to feel the tumblers moving, shifting, rising and lowering. If you concentrate, you will feel it giving.**" He took his hands from yours, but not before letting the very tips touch. A tingle spread across her arms, but you ignore it.

Brynjolf took a pick and within a few seconds, unlocked the chest you had been practicing on moments before. The lid lifted with a groan, mocking you. As amazing as it was that he had opened it, you knew you were bound to fail.

"**Your turn.**" He closed the chest and locked it, giving you a fresh pick. You took it, but didn't approach the chest.

"**Brynjolf...**"

"**Try. Do not hesitate.**" He told you firmly. You took in a deep breath, shuffled towards the chest on your knees and wiggled the end of the pick into the lock. You tried to feel the tumblers, but your hands shook too violently. Slowly... Slowly... you turned the lock. Your breaths were shallow and slow, and then-

_Snap!_

"**Damn it to Oblivion!**" You cursed, tossing the broken pick in anger.

"**Calm yourself. You're shaking like a leaf. Here.**" He moved behind you and pulled your back against his chest so that he could reach the chest. "**Take the pick.**"

You felt your breath becoming a bit more ragged with him so close, but you did as you were told and took another pick into hand. He cupped the hand into one of him, then pressed your free hand to the chests surface.

"**Bryn...**"

"**Feel the lock. I know you can do it.**" He said quietly. A jolt raced down your spine when his breath touched your neck. It was warm and smelled of mead. "**Feel it.**"

"**Mmmn. I am.**" You sighed, tilting your head.

"**Lass?**" He gave your a questioning look.

"**Huh?**" You blinked once, then realized you were acting strangely. "**I'm sorry! I meant, I'm trying.**"

"**You seem distracted. If you're not feeling well, we can train another time.**" There was no point in training someone if their mind and body weren't into it.

"**I'm fine.**" You assured him. He smiled and propped his chin against your shoulder for comfort's sake.

"**Go on.**"

You sucked a lungful of air through your nose, held it, then moved your hands. With the Brynjolf's strong arms around you and your fingers along the outside of the lock, you feel a smidge more confident. Along the length of the pick, you felt the vibrations of resistance. You didn't force it, easing the pick in a different direction. Your chest tightened a bit, so you puckered your lips and slowly let the air out.

"**Slowly, lass... There you go. I have faith in you.**"

Your face twitched. You wanted to smile. He had faith in you? Very few did, and you didn't want to disappoint the one that did.

Then, a_ click._

You felt your heart sink under the weight of another failure, until you felt Brynjolf shaking you by your shoulders. Wait... You heard the snapping of a pick often enough to know that the sound you had heard just now was different.

"**Well done! I told ya, lass!**" Brynjolf clapped you on the back, jerking you forward. You were shocked, stunned, frozen with joy.

"**I did it.**"

"**I wouldn't go rubbing it in Vex's face, but I'm mighty proud of you.**" He said. You looked over your smile, face cracked with a large grin.

"**You helped.**"

"**It sounds, to me, like you owe me a drink, then. What do you say?**" The copper-haired man stood, dusted his armor off, then hoisted you up by the hand.

"**I'm not much of a drinker.**" You stated.

"**Come now, you need to celebrate.**" He insisted.

"**Over opening a practice chest?**"

"**Any reason is a good reason. First pint is on you, lass, since I assisted you.**" He put an arm around your shoulder and lead you towards the Ragged Flagon. "**As well as the rest of them.**"

"**Of course, Master Brynjolf.**"

Oh, were you going to regret that choice.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Goodness, thank you for the reviews! I used to submit my crummy stories here YEARS ago and had never once received a review. So, believe me me when I say that you guys were reminding me to continue. I hadn't forgotten, but I had to restart this chapter a few times before I was even vaguely happy with it. I'm sorry it's so short, but the next chapter MIGHT make up for it. Maybe... Ghhn.

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"**Hey, you! Get up!**"

Get up...? Why in the world would you do that? With the skull-shattering pain in your head and the stiffness of your body, all you were willing to do was breath and whine, but even those were difficult.

"**I said wake up!**"

"**I can't... My head hurts.**" You grumbled, eyes closed tightly. You weren't sure where you were, but the floor was hard and there was a bright light trying to penetrate your eyelids. Whoever was speaking to you jeered, the sound followed by a few short shuffles and a loud clattering.

"**Damn prisoners... I should have taken the job at the inn.**"

You slung your arm over your head to block out the light, one eye opening gingerly. Your vision was blurred and pin-pricked, but you were able to make out the shape of a door across from you. Once your eye adjusted, you opened the other and realized that you had been locked away in a small prison cell. Your heart thumped, the sudden rush of blood making your head throb.

"**No... No. What happened?**" You sat up, picking off a piece of straw that was glued to your cheek by a thick paste of drool and... vomit? You cringed, crawling towards the door on your hands and knees. With shaking fingers, you felt the tray the guard had left moments ago. Through squinted eyes, you spotted the stale bread and small cup of warm water.

Your stomach growled, demanding the meager meal. You sighed and shoved the bread into your mouth, ridding the taste of bile from your tongue. The water helped to wash the bread down, but it tasted strangely of metal.

"**Our great thief is finally awake!**" Someone laughed. You stopped chewing the rest of your bread to look up and through the bars of your door. In another cell sat a smirking Nord, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. He looked fairly cozy, unlike you. Your hair was a ratty mess, you smelled horribly and your brain was fuzzier than a newly born chick.

"**I'm sorry...?**"

"**Don't you remember?**" He asked, raising an eyebrow. You frowned and turned your eyes to the ground.

"**No...**"

"**I'm not surprised. The guards brought you in two nights ago. You were quite the entertainer, rambling on about how you broke into Mistveil Keep and stole the Jarl's circlet from around her head.**" The Nord said with a chuckle. Your lips parted as your jaw went slack.

"**I... I did that?**" You choked out.

"**No, of course not! The guards told me that you stormed into the keep shouting about being a great thief and that you were going to rob everyone. They never gave you a chance.**" His lips pulled back in a snide grin.

"**I wouldn't have done something as stupid as that.**" You snapped.

"**Oh? Then why are you locked up, pretty lady? Just felt like having a snooze in your own vomit? I don't think so.**" The Nord shrugged and shifted, sitting on his knees.

"**I'm not that thick! I don't... Augh, I don't remember anything!**" You dug your fingers into your hair and buried your face into your knees. The Nord tilted his head, then sighed. He hoped, for all the teasing he had done, that it wasn't your first time being locked up. It wasn't, but the first time had been when you were little for tackling a guard. You have tried to behave in public since then.

"**'Ey! Missy, you have a visitor.**" Called a guard. You lifted your head, wondering which of your fellow guild-mates had come to mock you. You were taking in a deep breath and readying yourself for the slur of insults, but the breath left you in a ragged gasp when Brynjolf stepped around the corner. Scrambling to your feet and gripping the bars, you felt a flick of hope returning.

"**Brynjolf! I'm glad to see... you...**" Your heart sunk a few inches at the stoic expression on his face. He stood in front of the cell door, his eyes boring into you.

"**What were you thinking?**" He growled behind his teeth, one hand taking a bar above yours.

"**I'm sorry. I don't know. I don't remember anything that happened.**" Your voice was giving in on your thanks to the guilt. Brynjolf's eyes narrowed.

"**Lass, you drank more that night than any man in the Flagon. I wasn't expecting you to remember anything, but trying to rob the Jarl**?" He rubbed at his face with his free hand, his baggy eyes finding a spot in the cell to focus on.

"**I don't drink that often. You kept telling me-**"

"**I know what I told you!**"He grumbled behind his hand, "**But after you stumbled into bed, babbling about one thing after another, I told you to stay put. I didn't want you getting hurt.**"

You knuckled your forehead, willing yourself to remember.

"**I think I remember you helping me into bed. I know you were proud of me. I think, maybe, I just wanted you to stay proud of me.**" You laughed weakly, "**C—Can't blame a girl for trying, right?**"

"**Oh, I can, lass. Because of your little stunt, the guards know your face. From now on, your only jobs will be outside of Riften. Am I understood**?" He flicked his eyes towards you again, catching your tiny flinch.

"**But I want to work with you! Not all the guards know me!**" You protested. The Nord in the cell across from you let out a barking laugh.

"**I'm sure the Jarl knows, too.**" He commented. Brynjolf looked over his shoulder and scowled at the stranger, silencing him.

"**Please...**" You pleaded through the bars, but the man in front of you shook his head. He gave a low sigh, the air growing thick with tension. Your heart was beating faster now, and a pit was forming in your stomach. The way Brynjolf's face fell and the tiredness in his eyes gave everything away. You knew what he was about to say, but the anticipation was nothing compared to the blow of those four words.

"**I'm disappointed in you.**"

Your heart had already been knocked down a few pegs, but now it fell to your feet and through the floor. If there was a basement, that was where it would remain.

"**Bryn...**"

"**I'll bail you out, lass, but don't expect a warm welcome.**" Nothing more was said after that. Brynjolf gave you one last look, then turned towards the nearest guard. He fished through a pouch on his hip, giving the helmeted man a small pile of gold. You felt sick watching the guard bounce the coins in his palm. Not only had you disappointed Brynjolf, but you had cost him a large chunk of gold.

With a ratting of keys and metal on stone, you were finally free. Though, you felt no relief. Your head hung low as you followed behind the burly man, feet dragging along the ground. Needless to say, you didn't expect eager embraces or claps on the back when you arrived at the Flagon.

The heat from one-too-many glares pushed you in the direction of the bar, but you resisted. Instead, you flopped heavily onto your bed and thought through your headache for ways to make it up to the one that you had frustrated most.

It wasn't going to be easy, but determination was your only strength at the moment.


End file.
